


Five Times Goro Akechi's Christmas Went Horribly Wrong (and one time it didn't)

by Emerald_Heart12



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Goro's Backstory TM, M/M, contains all the elements goro's backstory does so just watch out for that orz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28323132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald_Heart12/pseuds/Emerald_Heart12
Summary: Goro's used to his Christmases being awful. After all, he was never destined to be able to enjoy things like most people could.This year, Ren has other ideas, and he refuses to let his boyfriend be burdened by his past.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 100
Collections: Shuakeshu Artist Server's Secret Santa Fics





	Five Times Goro Akechi's Christmas Went Horribly Wrong (and one time it didn't)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [killjoy_prince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killjoy_prince/gifts).



> For the Shuakeshu Artists' Server Secret Santa, for @killjoyprince! Merry Christmas, Prince~ <3

#  V. 

“Merry Christmas, Goro.” His mother presses a kiss to his forehead. 

“Mmm . . . Mama?” Goro rubs his eyes, opening them to the frigid winter air. Instinctively, he moves toward her, eagerly seeking warmth that the thin duvet can’t provide at this time of year. 

“Morning, angel,” she says, wrapping him in a hug. Her body is cold, too, Goro notes, but her embrace is warm. 

“Still sleepy,” he mumbles, nearly falling asleep as she carries him. “I wanna go back to bed . . .”

She laughs, and it’s the loveliest sound Goro’s heard; it’s been so long since she’s laughed like this. “Goro, sweetie, don’t you want to see what Santa got you this year?”

Goro immediately perks up at that. “Santa . . . Santa came this year?”

She kisses Goro’s nose, and it feels a little bit warmer. “Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he come for the best little boy on the planet?”

Immediately, Goro feels his heart soar. Even if all the other kids at school are mean and tell him that he’s a mistake, that he’s an evil hellspawn child that can only cause misery, or that he’s so bad at existing that he shouldn’t do it at all, if his Mama says that he’s a good boy, then that means she must be right. 

Mama is always right, after all. Even when she’s angry and not-so-nice. 

“I just thought, um . . .” Goro pauses, thinking for a good excuse. He doesn’t want to worry her. “I just thought maybe he was busy this year, because, uh . . . there’s lots of big houses, right? Maybe he got lost there and couldn’t find the chimneys so he didn’t have time to come and see our house because it’s small!”

“Right,” Mama says, and there’s a faraway look in her eyes that Goro thinks means she’s angry with someone. 

“Mama, are you angry with me?”

Her eyes soften immediately as she looks at him again. “Not at you, baby, never at you,” she says quietly, kissing his forehead. It tickles a little, and Goro giggles. 

He doesn’t say that sometimes Mama _is_ angry with him. He knows that if he says it, it’ll make Mama cry and keep saying sorry even though she didn’t do anything wrong. 

He doesn’t like seeing Mama cry because when she cries, he doesn’t know how to make her happy again. 

Instead, he says, “I’m not a baby anymore! I’m already five years old! I’m big enough to protect Mama on my own from all the bad people! Everyone at school says I’m scary, so I can scare away all the bad guys who come here and hurt you and the ones who ask for money every month! I can do my times tables, too, all the way up till fifteen!” 

She smiles at him and leads him to the living room, where the little plant that they use as a Christmas tree stands proudly, its gold paper star that Goro made at school reflecting the morning sunlight. 

Goro’s eyes immediately flit to the base of the tree, where there’s a big box wrapped in shiny blue paper with snowflakes. “Is that for me?” he asks, barely remembering to use his indoor voice. 

Mama ruffles his hair gently. “Of course, sweetie,” she says, ushering him towards the present. 

Eagerly, Goro runs to the tree, but he’s careful to not tear the wrapping paper as he opens his gift. Instead, his tongue pokes out as he tries to carefully peel off the tidily placed sellotape on the edges of the packaging. 

When the present is fully unwrapped, Goro turns it to the front to see—

“It’s the Neo Featherman R Feather Blaster!”

Goro holds it up reverently, admiring the flashy gold ray gun—one only worthy of a hero that demands everyone’s attention. It’s a little too big for him to hold comfortably in one hand, but it’s elegant, graceful, light, and _heroic_. 

“I love you, Mama!” he shouts, running to her and throwing his arms around her in a huge hug. “You told Santa to get this for me, right?”

She smiles warmly. “That’s right, and he could only do it because you’ve been such a good boy. Don’t listen to what anyone else says about you, okay, love?”

“Yeah!” Goro cheers, too taken with his new gun to really pay much attention. 

He tears it from the cardboard box it’s in, barely waiting for Mama to cut the zip ties on the back. “One for all, all for justice!” Goro holds up the gun awkwardly, pointing it towards the door that all the weird old men that meet his mother come in from. “Pew pew pew!”

By the time Goro’s brushed his teeth, showered, and eaten a slice of bread for breakfast, he’s already headed out to the nearby park to play with his new toy. 

It’s amazing—Goro points it, flashing the lights at a boy who tries to chase a cat up a tree, then he points it at a piece of crumpled paper on the floor. He feels like a _real_ hero. 

“. . . hellspawn . . .”

Goro stiffens, gripping the toy gun tighter. He knows that people only use that word when it’s about him. 

“ . . . that demon child . . . feeding on that woman’s life force . . .”

Goro doesn’t understand what that means, but he hears the voices behind him. Quietly, he moves a little closer to hear what they’re saying. 

“. . . that bastard child, all he does is drain that woman.”

“Ohh, yes, if she wasn’t, a, _you know_ , I would almost feel sorry for her. If it were me, I would have aborted the child, you know? Easier on everyone.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I hear she considered it, but the clinic refused her without the father’s permission. If she’s going to sell her body like that, she should at least use protection . . .”

Goro can feel a shiver run down his spine, and he wishes that his jacket was a little warmer. 

“Still, she loves the little bastard, even though he ruined her life . . .”

_I . . . I ruined Mama’s life?_

“Really?”

“Absolutely, have you seen her lately? She’s been starving herself to buy the kid a _toy_! Brats like that, without a strict father to raise them, are so . . . selfish and ungrateful.”

_Mama did what . . . ?_

A lump settles in Goro’s throat, and he clutches the gun tightly, not listening to the conversation any longer. Instead, he turns on his heels and runs back to his house. 

His house, where he finds his mother collapsed and coughing on the floor from exhaustion. 

Goro hides the gun away and doesn’t look at it for another few years. 

* * *

#  IX. 

“You’re nine years old, you should know better than to leave your messes around in pursuit of your childish fantasies!” the caretaker hisses, her voice like a shard of ice piercing the already cold winter. 

Goro flinches, picking up the pencils scattered around the floor and scrapped wish lists that he knows can never be fulfilled. 

_Santa probably didn’t come this year because I wasn’t a good boy. Because it’s my fault that Mama died . . . I did something that made her want to leave me forever._

Everyone else says that ‘something’ was existing just as Goro Akechi. 

_“It’s just like they say, you can never trust an Akechi, like his namesake, all he brings is betrayal,”_ the other, older children would whisper after their subpar history lessons. 

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Goro says quietly. “I j-just thought that maybe this year . . .”

“You thought that _Santa_ would even want to visit a bastard like _you_?” she sneers. “Don’t be absurd.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Goro whispers. 

“You damn well better be. In fact, if you are, you’ll clean the kitchen tonight.” She leers for a little too long on the statement, and Goro can immediately tell she’s foisting off her own duties on him. 

“B-but it’s Christmas Eve . . .”

Immediately, her grin freezes and her lips drop into a growl. “So what? That shouldn’t matter to you. Christmas is a _family_ holiday, you know? If your family wanted you, and if you ought to be celebrating Christmas, you wouldn’t be here now, would you?”

Goro’s eyes burn, but he can’t let himself cry. Not now, not in front of her. _Crying means you’re showing them you’re weak. You have to let them think that you’re strong, no matter what._

So instead, he smiles his sweetest smile at her. “Okay, ma’am. I’ll do my best.”

She looks taken aback, and Goro can’t fight the sense of smug satisfaction that starts to fill him.

And if he steals a few gingerbread cookies that the caretaker had made for herself, that’s just his payment for doing the dirty work—he doesn’t feel guilty in the slightest.

They taste better than the food they usually serve at the orphanage, anyway. 

* * *

#  XIV. 

On Christmas Eve, the Metaverse is just as cold as reality. Mementos is a little different, Goro will grant it that, with the occasional wreath he finds along the endless subway and the rare present. Sometimes, a Shadow would drop something that was supposedly ‘Christmassy’ in nature. 

Goro wishes his Metaverse outfit was a little warmer, personally, but a multi-layered marching band outfit can only do so much to prevent one from a cold that is cognitive in nature. 

He shivers, and it’s far, far too cold to keep exploring further: the lower down he goes, the colder Mementos seems to become. His breath is already coming out in puffs, and his gloves are barely protective enough for his hands to retain feeling. He breathes out into his palms, then rubs them together in an attempt to quell the numbness in his fingertips. 

It’s too cold for him to keep moving. He’s hungry, he’s tired, and he has absolutely no way of completing the task Wakaba Isshiki had asked him to. 

At the reminder of his hunger, Goro’s stomach growls. “Nngh,” he groans, pressing his hands into his abdomen as if that’ll stop the hunger pangs. 

_Hopefully . . . one of the Shadows will drop something edible_ , he thinks to himself, summoning Robin Hood and slicing through an array of Shadows at a time—a few Beads, even a Soma, and a piece of advent calendar chocolate fall from their pockets, but nothing else. 

Frustrated, Goro eats the chocolate and pockets the rest, but all it does is make him feel even hungrier. 

The evening would have been a better time to come down here, he reckons. _People would be going out for dinners and such and food would be more prominent in their cognitions._

Still, this is Goro’s only way of getting food until he reaches reality again, and until he completes the task Isshiki had given him, he won’t be allowed to leave the Metaverse.

 _How do I get . . . another Persona, just like that?_ Goro’s mind is already numbing as he has Robin Hood Brave Blade a whole group of Shadows. 

Eventually, Goro removes himself from his mind almost completely as he rampages through Mementos, slaughtering faceless, nameless Shadows that he encounters, sowing chaos as he moves. 

Goro doesn’t know how much time has passed when he hears a voice whisper in his head, _Hello, little one . . ._

Goro frowns. “Who . . . what are you?”

There’s a stilted sensation that follows, and Goro can just about tell that it’s supposed to be laughter. _I think that is something you’ll come to learn, little one . . . have you not heard the name Nyarlathotep before?_

Goro doesn’t respond. He could swear he _has_ heard the name before, but he can’t possibly fathom when or where. He’s been too many places, seen too many people, heard too many evil whispers to be able to pinpoint it with accuracy. 

_Never worry it, little one . . ._ it says, and immediately the fog that had clogged up his head clears, and something dark shoots out from him and manifests above him, black and white and covered in hypnotic stripes that almost seem to move on their own, with similarly patterned curved horns and a red slash against its face that somewhat resembles a grinning mouth. 

“If chaos is what you seek, then chaos we shall bring,” it murmurs, and its mouth moves slowly, revealing that the glowing red slash is actually a mouth filled with two perfectly aligned rows of pointed teeth. “I am the harbinger of chaos itself, Loki; I am thou, thou art I. Together we shall reap the seeds of the chaos we entrench all others in!”

The next thing Goro knows, he’s blinking his eyes open to the white room of the lab. 

He pulls his knees closer to himself and shivers, Loki grinning proudly in his mind.

* * *

#  XVI. 

For what feels like the hundredth time that night, Goro fidgets with his tie, tightening it, then loosening it, before tightening it again.

When the reprimand comes—“stop that, Akechi, it's getting on my nerves”—Goro feels more like he was expecting it than not.

“My apologies. Good evening, Shido-san.”

Shido grunts in acknowledgement, before giving Goro a quick once over from head to toe. “Good to see you’re dressed appropriately.”

He’s wearing a prim maroon suit with gold embellishments, one that he saw in a catalogue for Christmas a few months ago. “Thank you, sir,” Goro just says. 

The car ride to the restaurant isn’t particularly long, but Shido picks up a conversation on the way there about what Goro is and isn’t allowed to say, and how he needs to conduct himself during the Christmas dinner party. 

“Understood, sir,” Goro says when Shido finishes. 

“And another thing, Akechi,” he continues, “try not to stand out too much. They will expect you to mingle, so you should at the very least make a good impression on the people there. They could prove to be future clients of our little _business_ , you see.”

“Yes, sir,” Goro says, then, realising he’s been too quiet, he adds, “I’m sure that won’t prove to be a problem for me.”

Halfway through the dinner party, Goro decides that the only thing going for it is its sophistication. _All the people here are fake, two-faced and deceitful, and all they want to do is either suck up or boast about their own exploits and pursuits. The food is pretty, but it’s all bland and all they’re doing is just making it sound good because it’s expensive . . ._

More than anything else, it’s the _attitudes_ of each entitled little walking stain on society there that aggravates him. Each time they get in his face for being “such a handsome young man here at such a young age” and leer with thinly veiled envy behind their eyes, or each time they place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it a little too hard, or each time they clap him on the back with just a little too much force for it to be well-meaning. 

But Goro’s used to misplaced hatred, so he grins and bears it. 

Even if by the time he gets home that night, nothing he’s eaten stays in his stomach.

* * *

#  XVIII. 

Goro has resigned himself to the fact that he will never experience a good Christmas, even with Shido gone. 

This year, he’s replacing the bandages on his leg in his house (no thanks to his cognitive double) when his vision is dyed red. When he manages to stumble across to the balcony, he sees that the sky appears to be bleeding, quite literally—and of course, the masses see none of it. 

_No, it’s not that they don’t see it, it’s more like they’re . . . not reacting to it_ , he realises. _They don’t care at all._

Goro reminds himself that he doesn’t care either, a breath hissing through his teeth as his bandage burns in precisely the wrong way. 

The blood-rain, he realises, is seeping through it, and just its contact with the freshly made wound is enough for it to bring forth a searing pain. Goro bends down to roll his trouser sleeve down to cover it—

The ground begins to shake ever so slightly, and _fossils_ begin to sprout from the ground, as though they’d been waiting just beneath the surface. _Something’s happening . . . why does it feel like . . ._

Instinctively, Goro calls, “Robin Hood!”

Much to his surprise, however, the Persona actually materialises right in front of him. “Am I in . . . the Metaverse?” he mumbles to himself. Saying it aloud, he can tell that something feels right about the assumption, but something else feels wrong as well.

Goro glances at Robin Hood, but even the Persona seems to be clueless about the situation. _Do the Phantom Thieves have anything to do with this . . . ?_ Almost immediately, Goro unlocks his phone and opens the Phan-Siton which the question has changed, and the rating even more so: 

_Do the Phantom Thieves_ **_really exist?_ **

_02.17%_

Goro almost drops his phone in shock—this is the website that he knows is run by that avid fanboy of the Thieves; there’s no way that he would have changed the poll to ask such a question. 

And that aside, what doubt can there be anymore that the Phantom Thieves _do_ exist? He’s been tracing their every move, made so many TV appearances regarding them; hell, he’s even watched them broadcast Shido’s calling card on live television while trying to stop himself from bleeding to death in his own apartment. 

Goro’s phone _does_ slip through his fingers this time—except, this time, it’s literal. 

Goro’s fingertips are fading, slowly but surely, into absolute nothingness. 

He’s barely able to restrain his shock and confusion as it happens—he did _not_ manage to claw his way out of death’s grasp this many times for him to simply _vanish_ , not after he’s worked so hard to be _someone_ , to just _exist_ enough to be significant and _noticed_.

Something—a shout, perhaps—bubbles up in his throat as he makes _some_ attempt to prove he’s _here —_

But it’s to no avail; he fades to dust before it can ever leave his mouth. 

He’s trapped in a blue limbo with nightmarish apparitions coming and going every few minutes, trying to talk to him. He doesn’t respond. One of them, an eccentric girl in a blue dress, drops a blue Santa hat on his head. 

He thinks he hears the voices of the Phantom Thieves, but they’re gone before he can really be sure. 

A giant metal robot god falls from grace. 

By the time it’s late evening, the entire city has already gone back to normal. He finds himself wandering in Shibuya Square, when he hears two very distinct voices conversing. 

“. . . The problem lies in proving him guilty.” _That’s Sae-san’s voice. And is she . . . talking about Shido?_ “It’d be difficult unless the correlation between the Metaverse and the mental shutdowns is made.” 

Goro realises what she’s hinting towards before she even says it, using the pregnant pause in the conversation to move closer. 

Sae sighs. “. . . I’ll be blunt. I want you to turn yourself into the police.”

The voice that follows belongs to the Leader of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts, but it’s so quiet and dry that Goro can barely hear him as he says, “Why?”

His hesitation is understandable; entirely so. The last time Akira Kurusu had been in the presence of police officers, they were drugging and beating him into compliance to get him to admit his “guilt”, and the last time Goro had gotten a proper look at his face, he was drugged into silence and covered in cuts and bruises of varying hues. 

“Your testimony will be necessary in order to prove Shido guilty. However . . .” Finally, she seems to show some guilt as she continues, “That will mean placing you on centre stage. You’ll be treated as a hero who saved this country, but there’s no way the police or the public prosecutors will let that slide.” She pauses for a moment to summarise: “If you turn yourself in to the police, you’ll definitely be arrested.

Akira reacts immediately—his eyes widen (in shock or fear, Goro can’t quite tell), and his posture straightens, losing any sense of his relaxed composure. 

Sae veers onto a different topic. “I’ll close all the cases surrounding Shido. I intend to expose them all. It’s to prevent society from becoming distorted again. That’s what you want too, isn’t it?”

Akira’s head turns, clearly conflicted. _He’s actually considering it. That . . . that self-sacrificial fool is actually . . ._

“I’ll ask you once more: I’d like for you to turn yourself in to the police, of your own accord.”

Akira nods, shoving his hands back into his pockets, and opens his mouth to answer, but Goro’s already at his limit. 

“There’s no need for that,” he says, his words cutting right through to where the two are standing. 

As he approaches them, he watches their faces morph into various expressions of confusion and concern. 

“You . . .”

Goro doesn’t pay heed to the statement. “If they get their hands on the perpetrator, there’ll be no need for him to turn himself in, no?” he asks smoothly, turning to face Sae. 

Almost as if he’s acting like a safety wall for Akira. 

“Y . . . you’re alive . . . !” Akira mumbles, and Goro can hear his tears through his words. 

_Barely_ , Goro almost says. “That appears to be the case,” he says instead, facing Akira directly. 

The other boy’s eyes are wide, expressing so many emotions at once that are all clear as day for Goro to read: betrayal, surprise, anguish, and . . . and relief. 

For the first Christmas in so many years, a genuinely warm smile finds its way onto Goro’s face as he meets Akira’s eyes. _Trust me. I know you still do._

That Christmas, Goro gets arrested.

* * *

#  XIX.

This year, Goro Akechi does not expect his Christmas to be enjoyable. He has, after all, never enjoyed Christmas before, but if nothing else, he can at least experience it as a normal day. 

So instead of going out to eat somewhere, or meeting up with anyone, Goro finds his feet pedalling him in the direction of Yongen-Jaya. 

He knows that Akira’s spending his winter break in Tokyo—it’s something he had mentioned multiple times over text when he had to return to his hometown, and he had made sure that Goro had promised that he would visit at least once throughout the year, since he couldn’t make it for summer break. 

When Goro steps into the café, he immediately winces: the interior is almost covered from top to bottom with colourful lights, wreaths, bells, and what Goro’s pretty sure is fake snow which should absolutely not be allowed in a café at any point in time. 

“Welcome,” Akira says from the counter, leaning over as he lets his Santa hat droop forwards. 

Goro sighs. “Akira . . . please, for the love of all things holy, please take off that hat.”

Akira pouts a little. “Oh, come on, Ann said it was cute.”

Goro can’t deny that Ann was very obviously right, but it’s not like he can just say that aloud without admitting defeat. “You look like you’re ready to start sitting kids on your lap and asking them what they want for Christmas.”

“Well, unfortunately, there aren’t any kids around, but you’re absolutely welcome to do so, Goro,” Akira counters easily. Then, after a moment, he asks, “So, do you happen to want any of our specially brewed Christmas-themed coffees?”

Goro tries his best to not flinch. “Just . . . the one you usually brew, please,” he just says. 

“Goro . . .” Akira pauses as he starts grinding the beans. “Can you tell me what’s bothering you?”

Goro shakes his head. “I just . . . don’t care much for Christmas Eve, or Christmas.”

Akira nods, ever the patient listener. “Bad experiences on Christmas? I know last year was . . . a lot.”

Goro shakes his head. “It’s not just last year. I suppose . . . I’ve never had any reason to bother looking forward to it, and thinking about it only made me remember all the things I didn’t have.”

Again, Akira nods patiently. “In that case,” he starts to say, in his very specific  _ Joker-has-another-terrible-idea-that-might-just-work _ tone of voice, “how about we make some new Christmas Eve memories that you can look back on and feel good about?”

Goro bites his lip. “I really can’t stay long, you know.”

“ _ But baby, it’s cold outside _ ,” Akira hums, then shakes his head. “Really, Goro, I’m serious. I understand that it’s a hard day for you, but I want to do what I can to make you feel even a little better about it.”

_ What did I do to deserve someone as sweet as him? _ Goro can’t help but stare at his boyfriend.  _ Maybe . . . maybe with him, Christmas can be something worth remembering. _

Goro’s coffee is brewed and drank, the empty mug sitting on the bar, forgotten, as music begins to play. It’s slow jazz—Christmas jazz, Goro could swear—and before he realises it, Akira’s moved from behind the counter to him, bowing deeply. “Goro Akechi,” he says, looking up at him mid-bow, “may I have this dance?”

Goro doesn’t know how long they spend dancing alone in Leblanc to the gentle music, or at what time they both head up to Akira’s newly refurbished attic room, but when he wakes up on Christmas morning, snuggled in next to his boyfriend, he finally feels content. 

Akira still isn’t awake yet, so it’s the perfect opportunity to say something he’s been holding in for too long. 

Gently, Goro presses the softest of kisses to Akira’s forehead. “I think I love you,” he says quietly, before closing his eyes again and falling asleep with his boyfriend.

**Author's Note:**

> dfklhskghs fgI am SO sorry this ended up being so late and I'm posting this at like 5 am so please excuse any errors!


End file.
